


Surrender

by teacuphuman



Series: 2016 Inception Kink Bingo [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Crossdressing, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 17:06:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7540924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Crossdressing square on my Inception Kink Bingo card.</p><p>Arthur stumbled upon Eames' closely guarded secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surrender

By the time he returns to his hotel room, Eames is exhausted. He’s spent the better part of the day perched on the most uncomfortable chair in existence while watching the flat of their mark’s married lover, and all he wants is a warm bath and some surrender.

 

He strips off his clothing, tossing it into the laundry service bag, and starts the water running. He pulls the leather case out of the closet and sets it on the bed, snapping open the brass clasps. Inside is a trove of silk, satin, and lace, just waiting eagerly to be chosen. His bottom aches from the unforgiving nature of the seat Arthur planted him in before buggering off to do God knows what, and he’s in the mood for a little softness.

 

He selects a pair of delicate black lace boyshorts with attached wide mesh fishnet stockings and carefully lays them on the coverlet. He runs his fingers over the matching lace bra, but the shining buckles of his new corset catches his eye and he strokes the soft leather with his thumb. There’s something about the contrast of the leather and lace that makes his pulse spike and the corset ends up joining the fishnets. 

 

He checks the water level and temperature before he pulls out his trusty five and a half inch Biancas and a skin tight black pencil skirt. He has a healthy appreciation for patterns and vibrant colours, but when it comes to his surrender, Eames is a man of simple tastes. 

 

The water is hot enough to sting as he lowers himself into the tub. He groans and leans back, taking a few minutes to relish the steam. Once his backside has ceased its complaining and skin on his fingers is starting to pucker, Eames runs a wash cloth over every inch of his body, washing away the sweat and stress of the day. 

 

He’s always been fond of indulging his whims, and this is no different. He takes his time, enjoying the feel of soft, wet cotton dragging across the sensitive terrain of his skin while the barely there touch lights up his erogenous zones one after another. He uses his index and middle finger to press the cloth into the spot behind his scrotum. It feels rougher here, more impersonal, yet wickedly intimate at the same time.

 

Dropping the cloth, he rubs his middle finger over his hole, shivering at the pressure. The tub is deep enough that his half hard erection is completely submerged, and wide enough that he could fuck himself on his finger without damaging his elbows, but the goal tonight is to pamper himself.

 

He climbs out of the tub, patting himself dry before walking into the sitting area naked to fix himself a drink. He prefers to air dry, and there will be no touching his delicates until all the moisture has gone. He pours himself a whiskey and looks out over the city, its lights twinkling in the darkness, and its people hurrying through the streets, hoping to outrun the rain that’s certainly on its way.

 

Eames tops up his drink before returning to the bedroom to dress. The drink goes on the nightstand, safely out of reach. The stocking/panty combo is first, and he sighs at the feel of the lace trailing its way over his calf and up his thigh. He points his toes, careful of the wide lattice of the fishnets, then repeats the process for the other leg. They fit perfectly, as they should, having been made specifically for him. The lace is snug across his backside, making him feel cherished and on display.

 

The skirt is next, the fabric whooshing over his stockings to wrap tightly around his lower half. He zips the skirt slowly to ensure he doesn’t snag the lace of the panty, and to enjoy the hungry purr of the zipper as it seals him in. The corset is soft as butter with three wide, silver buckles to secure it. Eames shivers as he wraps it around his waist, but the leather warms quickly. The buckles creak a little as he fastens them, but the fit is perfection. His ensemble is so tight he has to circle his foot a little before he locates his shoes instead of bending to search for them.

 

His heels click on the bathroom tile when he steps in to study his reflection. There’s colour in his cheeks and a brightness in his eyes that only comes with surrender, and Eames feels secure. Encased in excellence and untouchable.

 

He startles at the knocking, firm and persistent. Any hope he has that the visitor will go away is squashed when Arthur calls his name. Eames grabs a robe from the back of the door, tying the sash before opening the door as far and the safety latch allows.

 

“Darling, what are you doing here?” Eames aims for his usual jovial tone but his voice sounds high and frantic to his ears. 

 

Arthur frowns and reaches for the glock concealed under his jacket. “We had a reservation.”

 

Eames sighs and shakes his head at the code. “No one is holding me under duress, Arthur, you just caught me at a bad time.”

 

“Oh,” Arthur relaxes. “You forgot the file on Tremblay.”

 

“Yes, I thought it might seem a bit strange to peruse a file on the man I’m observing, while I’m observing him. Silly me.” Eames shifts his hips. He’s hiding behind the door as much as possible and his hunched posture is bringing back the aches the bath had chased away.

 

“Right, but I figured you’d want to go over it again tonight. We go under in three days and you need all the prep you can get.” The frown returns to Arthur’s face as his eyes trail over the door.

 

“Your lack of confidence in my ability to do my job is always such a pleasure, truly.”

 

“Yeah, right, why are you so tall?” Arthur wedges his foot in the space between the door and the jamb.

 

“What?” Eames’ mind goes blank as he realizes he’s still wearing his heels.

 

“We’re the same height normally, but you’re much, much taller right now. Are you standing on a box?”

 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing. Couldn’t quite see out the peephole.” Eames shoves at the door, trying to dislodge Arthur’s foot.

 

“About five and half inches. Why are you so tall?” Arthur’s frown is almost comical and if Eames wasn’t about to have a panic attack at the prospect of Arthur discovering his secret, he’d be laughing.

 

“Lovely as always, darling. Ta for the file.” Eames kicks at Arthur’s shoe just as Arthur’s hand snakes through the gap and gropes at the leather over Eames’ ribs.

 

Eames stills, holding his breath as Arthur’s wide eyes met his. Slowly, carefully, Arthur ghosts his hand across the corset, his breath catching as he discovers the buckles. He licks his lips, pressing closer to the door to slide his palm back, and then down, over Eames’ cloaked backside. 

 

Arthur winces when the door pinches his arm, halting his exploration. “Let me in.”

 

Eames’ pulse jumps at the rough quality of Arthur’s voice, but he’s frozen in place. 

 

“Eames. Let me in. Please.” Arthur’s eyes are full of heat, his hand petting at Eames’ hip.

 

Eames shakes his head silently, terrified of the heat spiking in his belly. 

 

“I want to see.” Arthur says, practically begging. “Please, God, let me see.”

 

Eames blinks rapidly, self preservation warring with pure, raw want. He nods curtly and Arthur steps back, allowing him to close and unlatch the door. Eames moves to the window, jumping when Arthur throws the deadbolt. He watches in the window’s reflection as Arthur glances around the room, his eyes finally landing on Eames.

 

“Will you take off the robe?” Arthur stops a few feet behind and to the right of Eames, allowing him to keep Arthur in sight.

 

“Arthur, this isn’t-”

 

“It’s okay. I promise. I want to see.” Arthur’s voice is firm, on the edge of demanding.

 

“This isn’t for you.” Eames says, unsure of how best to explain his surrender.

 

“Oh,” Arthur perks up. “This is for you?”

 

“Yes,” Eames whispers.

 

Arthur steps forward, close enough for Eames to see him clearly in the reflection. “Will you show me? Please?”

 

“I don’t know.” Eames bites his lip. Arthur and his surrender are not things Eames ever expected to be in the same room and the fluttering of his stomach is making him nauseous.

 

“I’ll be good. So good,” Arthur says. “I promise.”

 

Eames frowns as Arthur sinks to his knees, and oh,  _ oh _ , maybe Arthur does understand what this is. Eames turns, cocking his head.

 

“This,” Arthur motions to Eames. “Isn’t for me. It’s for you. Only for you.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I won’t touch if you don’t want me to. But I will do anything you want me to if you’ll let me see what’s under that robe.” Arthur hands are lax at his sides, but his breathing is laboured.

 

“Why?” Eames straightens, looming over Arthur. He wants desperately to show Arthur, but there’s still so much that could go wrong.

 

“Because I bet you’re beautiful under there.”

 

A flush flows through Eames’ body. It’s all too good to be true, but Arthur looks sincere, and so, so eager to be privy to Eames’ secret.

 

“It’s not for you,” Eames repeats. “But I’ll show you because I want to.”

 

Arthur nods, shuffling closer on his knees. Eames unties the knot at his waist with shaking hands, holding Arthur’s eye. Arthur holds his breath until the robe falls open, tongue darting out to wet his lips when Eames shrugs it off his shoulders and tosses it onto the couch.

 

“Lovely,” Arthur breathes, inching closer.

 

“Yeah?” Eames tries to calm his breathing, his chest rising and falling quickly, making him lightheaded.

 

“Can I touch you?” Arthur’s eyes trail over Eames. 

 

“If you like,” Eames fights a grin. “Wait, go wash your hands first.”

 

Watching Arthur race to comply sends a hot jolt of satisfaction through him. When Arthur returns, his hands are splayed in front of him, like he’s afraid of spooking Eames. His trousers are tented and if that doesn’t convince Eames that Arthur wants this, nothing will.

 

Eames wraps a hand around Arthur’s tie, halting his progression. “Take off your clothes.”

 

Arthur’s eyes go dark, his nostrils flaring as the carelessly shucks his jacket and waistcoat. He lets Eames keep his grip on the tie, working his shirt off around it.

 

“You ever treat my things with as little respect as you’ve shown that suit and you’ll spend the rest of your life with a significant limp.” Eames nods at the pile of discarded clothing. Arthur grins wickedly and shoves his trousers and pants to his ankles. 

 

Having Arthur nude in front of him like this is a dream come true. His sleek lines and sharp angles somehow complement the rigid constraint of Eames’ surrender, making it feel complete in a way it never has before.

 

“May I touch you now?” Arthur leans forward.

 

“Careful. You’ll be paying my dry cleaning bill if you stain anything.”

 

Arthur extends his hand, and Lord, it’s shaking. He pauses an inch from Eames’ sternum, hesitating before stroking the skin above the corset. His touch is warm and firm, making Eames’s breath hitch as Arthur explores every inch of bare skin available to him.

 

Eames watches the wonder in Arthur’s face as he follows the contours of Eames’ body. His cock is erect and Arthur has to keep pulling his body away to keep it from brushing against Eames.

 

“I may need to buy you a new skirt.” Arthur smiles, sliding a hand over Eames’ backside.

 

“Hmm, one of my choosing, or yours?” Eames leans into the touch.

 

Arthur looks up, eyes alight. “Which would you prefer?”

 

Eames considers the question. He imagines having Arthur pick out something tight and supple, waiting in the other room while Eames wraps himself in the gift of Arthur’s choosing. The look of heat and devotion that might appear on Arthur’s face when Eames presents himself for viewing.

 

“We’ll see how well you do tonight.” Eames wraps his arm around Arthur’s waist, pulling him closer until his cock is pressed to Eames’ hip, smudging precome across the fabric.

 

Arthur grins. “Can I kiss you?”

 

“Not yet,” Eames bites his lip to keep from laughing at Arthur’s pout. “What are you looking for, pet?”

 

“Anything you’ll give me. What do you usually do when you’re all dressed up like this? God, I have so many questions.”

 

“I won’t answer them all tonight. I’m not prepared for that.” Eames frowns.

 

“That’s fine. Will you tell me why you wear this? How often you do it?”

 

Eames feels nervous. It’s been a very long time since he’s shared this part of himself with someone else, and even then, it wasn’t another man. But Arthur looks so eager and excited that he has to give him something.

 

“A lot of people think forging is the ability to keep yourself in check. To focus on every little detail to ensure your forge is perfect. But the biggest flaw in that is the perfection itself. To forge convincingly, you have to let yourself go, lose yourself completely within the person, so that even actions that would be out of character seem natural to the mark because they’re so ingrained into how the forge would perform them. Forging is messy and loose. It’s easy to forget how to be yourself when you spend so much time lost in someone else.”

 

He trails a finger down Arthur’s nose, letting him lap at the digit before sliding into Arthur’s mouth.

 

“I do this to remind myself of who I am. To hold myself together when I feel too loose. The tighter the better, I like to feel the pieces digging into my skin. To run my fingers along the marks once I’ve taken it all off.”

 

Arthur pulls his head back, letting Eames’ finger drop from his mouth. “Last year, in Yemen. You seemed so off after the job.” 

 

Eames smiles sadly, remembering the feeling like he was going insane from forging a sadistic arms dealer. “This sort of thing is punishable by death in Yemen. Didn’t seem worth the risk.”

 

“Jesus, Eames.” Arthur hugs him, tightening his hold until Eames’ ribs creak. Eames is shocked to find it feels almost as grounding as his surrender.

 

“It’s fine, I got out as fast as I could. Stopped in Venice and went a little mad custom ordering from a private designer. Spent more in one day than I made on the job.”

 

“You should have told me, I would have helped you. We could have improvised.”

 

“Arthur, darling, this isn’t something I’m comfortable sharing with people very often.” Eames smiles at Arthur’s frown.

 

“Are you comfortable now?” 

 

“Your reaction has been very encouraging so far.” 

 

Arthur’s face flushes and he casts his eyes down. Eames catches him under the chin with his finger, forcing Arthur to meet his eyes.

 

“None of that. You still want to know my process?”

 

Arthur nods, eyes trained on Eames’ mouth. Eames leans in, dragging his lips over Arthur’s ear, delighting in the shiver it elicits.

 

“First I run a bath, water so hot it’s painful. It’s purifying, yeah? Shucking off the essence of the forge with each swipe of the washcloth. Sometimes, like tonight, it’s part of the preparation. Getting myself settled before I give myself over to being someone else. I lay out my selection, and after my soak I put it on slowly, piece by piece, savouring how each bit feels until I feel narrowed down to my basic self. I have a drink, just spending time in my own skin, while the fabrics keep me contained, leaving their marks on my flesh.”

 

Arthur’s hands pet over the belting of the corset, as though he’s trying to feel the indentations underneath.

 

“Once I’m settled, I start unwrapping myself. By the time I’m down to my panites I’m obscenely hard. Aching for it. That’s when I lay back and touch myself. Sometimes I do it naked, sometimes I leave all of it on. Depends on my mood.”

 

“What,” Arthur clears his throat before continuing. “What kind of mood are in you tonight?”

 

Eames steps away to observe Arthur. His skin is flushed, ruddy hue spreading down his neck and over his chest. His nipples are peaked, even in the heat of the room, and his cock is leaking where it strains toward his belly.

 

“I’m in the mood to indulge you, darling.”

 

Arthur closes his eyes and swallows thickly. “Can I release you?”

 

Eames chuckles. “That could mean a lot of different things, pet.”

 

Arthur smiles, reaching out to finger the buckles again. “This. Can I let you out?”

 

Eames hums his assent, tilting his hips forward in invitation. His own cock has taken an interest in the proceedings and is straining under the stricture of his skirt, unable to go anywhere. Arthur’s hands have steadied by the time he springs the first strap from its binding. The look of pure concentration on his face is making Eames’ head spin. He’s always found it heady to have Arthur’s attention focused on him, but this is more than he’s ever dared hope for.

 

The second buckle opens and Eames giggles, breathy and high-pitched. Arthur raises his head with an amused expression.

 

“Sorry.” Eames schools his face into something he hopes looks serious, but Arthur’s smiling, sneaking his fingers into the gaping front of the leather.

 

“No, it’s good. Don’t hold anything back.”

 

“I’m not used to doing this with anyone present.” Eames gasps a little at the pressure of Arthur’s fingers on the scoring left by the corset.

 

“We’re changing that.”

 

“We seem to be.” Eames breathes and Arthur smiles, big enough to show off his dimples. Eames brushes this thumb over them as the last buckles is released.

 

The leather clings to his back where his skin is warm and slick with sweat and Arthur spins him in place, pulling the corset off as he goes. For a moment Eames is lightheaded again, feeling somehow giddy and solemn at the same time. Arthur steps away to lay the corset on the dest, carefully settling it away from anything sharp or potentially staining. It hits Eames that Arthur is taking this seriously. He stumbled onto this part of Eames that he keeps so carefully hidden, and Arthur’s paying it as much respect as he can. Somehow, Arthur took one look at Eames in the midst of his surrender, and understood completely what it meant.

 

Eames has only ever had people tolerate this part of him, so to have Arthur run his fingers, then his mouth so reverently over the red lines left behind by the corset, is dizzying. He should feel overwhelmed, he thinks, apprehensive, demure, something other than this yearning to turn himself over completely to the man currently on his knees and fluttering kisses over the indents from the buckles.

 

“Take off my skirt.” Eames says, voice breathy.

 

Arthur peers up at him from his place on his knees, eyes dark and serious. He slides his hands up Eames’ thighs and over his hips to the zipper at his back. Eames doesn’t hear the sound of the zipper over his own panting, but he know the exact moment it’s all the way down because his circulation returns at full force and his cock fills so fast it hurts. He groans at the sudden pressure and Arthur eases the skirt down his legs.

 

“God, Eames.” Arthur says, rubbing his cheek against the lace at Eames’ hip.

 

“Careful, I’m close already.” Eames warns, not wanting this to end so soon.

 

Arthur growls and sinks his teeth into the skin above Eames’ panties.

 

“Fuck, Arthur.”

 

Arthur grins up at him, one hand behind Eames’ knee to help him step out of the skirt. Once it’s off, Arthur folds it carefully and leans to the side to place it on one of the large armchairs. 

 

“What now?” 

 

Eames licks his lips, trying to decide. Feeding Arthur his cock has serious appeal, but there’s something in the way Arthur has adopted this caretaking role that draws him and he’s eager to explore that further.

 

“Sit.” Eames nods his chin to the other chair, overstuffed and ostentatious as it is. A not-so-small part of Eames likes the idea of ruining it.

 

Arthur collapses into the chair, legs spread wide, eyes hungry. Eames moves to straddle him, aborting the idea at the last second and lurching into him awkwardly.

 

“Sorry.” He mumbles, face flaming. Arthur shakes his head, running his hand up Eames’ arm in a soothing gesture. Eames presses Arthur’s legs closer together and turns around. He settles lightly in Arthur’s lap, bracing himself on the arms of the chair, aware of how heavy he is compared to the other man. 

 

Arthur huffs, knocking Eames’ arms away and pulling him in firmly.

 

“You’re not going to hurt me,” Arthur says against his neck. “I want to feel you.”

 

Eames wiggles a little, delighting in the feel of Arthur’s cock against his ass. “Yes, dear.”

 

“Mmm, I like the sound of that.”

 

Eames stills. 

 

“You being obedient.” Arthur clarifies, hand trailing over Eames’ chest.

 

Eames relaxes. “Don’t expect it to happen often.”

 

Arthur chuckles, nipping at Eames’ neck. “Of course not.”

 

Eames leans his head back until it’s laying on Arthur’s shoulder, the other man’s hands still exploring the skin spread out over him. He scratches lightly over Eames’ nipples and Eames’ hands scrabbled at the armrests again. The scratching moves lower, blunt nails trailing past his navel and over the lace of his panties.

 

“Theses are gorgeous,” Arthur tells him. “You look unbelievable.”

 

Eames shudders as Arthur’s hands roam his inner thighs.

 

“Can I touch you?” Arthur asks, pressing a wet kiss behind Eames’ ear.

 

“ _ Please. _ ” Eames keens.

 

Arthur palms him lightly through his panties and Eames stops breathing. 

 

“Relax, I’ve got you.” Arthur soothes, his touch growing firmer.

 

“I’m not going to last long, pet.” Eames is already arching toward Arthur’s hand, trying to increase the friction.

 

“That’s fine.”

 

“Arthur,” Eames hates the whine in his voice, but it makes Arthur’s cock pulse where it’s trapped between them. “I need-”

 

“Yes, okay, yes,” Arthur says, voice dropping an octave and he reaches into Eames’ panties to free his cock. “Do you want, should we take these off?”

 

“No,” Eames gasps, squeezing his eyes shut as Arthur’s hand finally wraps around him. “Just, God, keep going.”

 

“Yeah,” Arthur growls, stroking firmly. His other arm is wrapped around Eames’ chest like a vise, pinning him down.

 

Eames’ balls are tightening and he’s going to come embarrassingly soon, but he’s beyond caring because he’s pumping into Arthur’s fist, and grinding back against his cock, and he’s never felt so exposed and revered in all his life.

 

He comes with a shout, Arthur’s fingers digging into his ribs, his teeth set in his neck. His breath is so fast he’s worried he’ll hyperventilate before he comes down, but Arthur’s stroking him through it and murmuring praise as he thrusts up against Eames’ ass. In less than a minute, Arthur’s biting out a curse and arching off the chair while pulling Eames down onto his lap. He spills against Eames’ lower back, warm and wet, and Eames wishes he could see what they look like together, spent and sprawled in an eight thousand dollar armchair that will never recover.

 

Arthur’s still shuddering beneath him when Eames starts to laugh.

 

“What it is?” Arthur asks, wrapping both arms around him.

 

“I just, I didn’t think. You.” Eames gives up and sinks further into Arthur’s embrace.

 

“Hmm. Good, though?” Arthur hooks his chin over Eames’ shoulder.

 

Eames turns enough to brush his lips against Arthur’s. “The best.”

 

Arthur grins, wiping his hand on the chair so he can take Eames’ face in both hands and kiss him. Eames rises only enough to turn and straddle Arthur’s lap. They kiss, deep and slow, ending where they should have started, until Arthur starts to giggle. Eames pulls back, brow furrowed at the absolute glee on Arthur’s face.

 

“What is it?”

 

“I ruined your stockings.” Arthur grins.

 

Eames smiles through his confusion. “Completely.”

 

Arthur pulls Eames down with a hand on his neck until their foreheads are touching. “That means I get to buy you more.”

 

A slow smile spreads over Eames’ face as he takes in the seriousness under Arthur’s amusement. The thought sends a spike of arousal through him, hot and sharp, but beneath that is the feeling of contentment, of acceptance. Of complete and total happiness.

 

“Yes, you will.”


End file.
